


Five Times Emma Swan Inappropriately Thought About Henry’s Mom (and one time it wasn’t inappropriate at all)

by amycarey



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycarey/pseuds/amycarey
Summary: Later that evening, in the floral room at Granny’s, she definitely does not rub one out to the image of a snarling Regina striding across the yard towards her.Written for Swan Queen Week Day 2: MILF.





	Five Times Emma Swan Inappropriately Thought About Henry’s Mom (and one time it wasn’t inappropriate at all)

**i. there’s a chainsaw and the mutilation of an apple tree involved**

 

Regina storms towards her, the grey fabric of her dress shifting and clinging with the movement of her legs, arms swinging, a snarl on her lips--painted red as blood, red as the flush Emma is sure is rising to her cheeks, red as the apples Regina Mills offered Emma yesterday, red as the lacey underwear Emma had been wearing at the time, and--

 

\--fuck. She’s totally gone. Hook, line and sinker. 

 

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing?”

 

Emma brandishes the chainsaw. “Picking apples.”

 

“You’re out of your mind,” Regina snaps. Her chest heaves; her nostrils flare. If Emma didn’t know better, she’d think Regina was aroused.

 

“No,  _ you _ are if you think a shoddy frame job’s enough to scare me off.” She drops the chainsaw; it’s done it’s job and it was purloined from Regina’s garage anyway. “You’re going to have to do better than that. You come after me one more time, I’m coming back for the rest of this tree. Because, sister, you have no idea what I’m capable of.” She walks away, internally praising herself for being so freaking cool as she throws back over her shoulder, “your move,” and doesn’t turn to look at Regina’s face.

 

Later that evening, in the floral room at Granny’s, she definitely does  _ not _ rub one out to the image of a snarling Regina striding across the yard towards her. She’s Henry’s Mom, she thinks, fingers dipping into her underpants. Henry’s totally evil, vicious, frame-job, manipulative Mom, she thinks, sliding two fingers into slick heat. This is not happening.

 

Oh  _ hell _ . Her thumb circles her clit, once, twice, three times. She shivers, quakes. 

 

And she climaxes with the image of an enraged Regina emblazoned in her mind.

 

**ii. when a poisoned turnover is a moment-killer**

 

She arrives on Regina’s doorstep, jacket zipped up to her neck. She’s even wearing a skirt, in an effort to impress the woman who refuses to be impressed by anything, who complained over Emma’s method of rescue on the night of the fire. “We need to talk.”

 

Regina almost smiles. “Yes, I imagine we do.” 

 

So Emma tells her she’s leaving Storybrooke, that it’s best for everyone--Henry most of all--but that she still wants to be a part of his life. She feels like nothing so much as a deadbeat parent leaving their kid because the going got too tough, the kind of person she promised herself she’d never be.

 

_ It’s what’s best for Henry _ , she thinks. Even Archie thinks so. 

 

And Regina is soft then, and kind, voice a low, resonant burr, and she offers her an apple turnover for the road and Emma definitely doesn’t let her eyes linger on Regina’s butt when she bends to take the turnovers out of the oven, or at the straining buttons of her shirt at all because that would be inappropriate and also, she still totally hates Regina.

 

Of course, the apple turnover turns out to be poisoned so that kind of takes the edge off Emma’s fantasies of burying her face between Regina’s legs as she sits perched on the edge of the kitchen bench.

 

**iii. when she’s her only guest and wishes she would stay for dessert**

 

She can’t help but watch Regina at Mary Margaret’s--Snow’s--welcome home party (because, whatever the hastily amended banner says, it’s not for her, and Regina is the only person who is definitely not there to welcome Snow back, even if she's really there for Henry not Emma). 

 

She sits alone, digging a fork disconsolately into lasagne, and Emma really does want to go over but also she’s wearing this embarrassingly goofy sweater she borrowed from Snow and no one will give her time to breathe, let alone talk to the only person she invited. She’s willing to admit that most of her desire to go and talk to Regina is driven by the fact that she’s wearing this shirt the same colour as red wine and her hair’s grown longer since Emma’s been away and Emma kind of wants to run her fingers through it.

 

But also, she remembers Cora, remembers being deceived, manipulated, taken for a fool, remembers that hand plunging into her chest. And she remembers Regina’s smile when she clambered out of the well, pained but present and worth just about everything. 

 

She sees Regina stand suddenly and runs after her, leaving Ruby behind mid-sentence. “Regina, wait!”

 

Regina turns, an expression of such hope on her face and even though Emma’s pretty sure she’s going to fuck it all up within about five minutes, she can’t help but ask Regina to stay, eyes wide with hope. “Archie’s made a cake. You don’t want to stay for a piece?”

 

**iv. definitely not harbouring some fantasies about that tight leather**

 

She sees her in the Enchanted Forest and, God, she’d been finding some common ground with Regina. They were friends, or as much as Regina allows herself to be friends with anyone--and particularly the other mother of her child with whom she tends to clash. Emma had definitely stopped having embarrassing sex dreams every night after an argument with Regina (and those had been difficult to explain away in Neverland).

 

And then she just has to see her as the Evil Queen.

 

The first time is bad enough, hidden in the bushes with Hook, seeing Regina in those leather pants so tight they should be illegal and that scarlet, cleavage-baring jacket and a ridiculous hat that Emma wants to take a photo of so she can mock Regina when she gets home. 

 

If she gets home.

 

“She’s such a MILF,” Hook says, leering, and a) where the hell did he learn that term and b) what a colossal douche. Emma contemplates whether she can punch him in his stupid face.

 

But the second time she meets her. The second time! She feels Regina--who is wearing an utterly ludicrous tiara--coolly appraise her, eyes raking her body, stopping at the abundance of cleavage the red dress creates. Emma feels her face grow hot, though that evil little voice in the back of her mind whispers,  _ definitely not totally straight in spite of the dull soulmate boyfriend. _

 

She calls her Regina because this woman may be a totally melodramatic monster, but she’s Regina and Emma misses Regina, Hook being as much use as a shit in a pan in this--and pretty much every--situation. 

 

(They’d shifted the moon together. Of course anyone else she went on an adventure with was going to fall short. 

 

It has nothing to do with wanting to fuck Henry's other mother. Nothing to do with the tightness in her heart she feels when Regina smiles.)

 

“Snow White may have left the party early but, I suspect, your night has just begun,” the Evil Queen says and Emma isn't sure whether to be frightened or deeply, deeply turned on.

 

**v. something old, something new**

 

Emma’s happy. She’s never been more happy in her life. She has married her true love (and she’s determined to believe this even though all the evidence stacks up against it), she’s dressed in a beautiful gown that she just loves, and her family are so happy. Snow’s sobbing tears of joy, David’s beaming. 

 

Even Regina is smiling, an arm wrapped around Henry, though perhaps her eyes are a little tired.

 

She’s so happy. This is what happy feels like. She can feel it bubble up inside her, tightening in her chest, constricting her breathing and--no, that’s a panic attack.

 

“Bathroom,” she murmurs to Killian, who barely notices, busy as he is recounting some old pirate story to David, and slides away.

 

Inside the stall, she takes deep gulping breaths. She’s happy. So happy.  _ Happyhappyhappy. _ She claws at the high collar of her dress, which chokes her.

 

“Emma?” It’s Regina and the concern in her voice completely undoes her.

 

“I’m fine,” she gasps. Desperately, she tries to control her breathing and fails. 

 

“Okay,” Regina says. “Come out then.” Emma remains silent. She can hear Regina tapping her heeled foot against the tiled bathroom floor, can hear her own shaky breathing, one wrong move away from full blown breakdown. “I’m not leaving,” Regina adds.

 

So Emma stands, unlocks the door. “Hey,” she says weakly. Looking over Regina’s shoulder she can see herself in the mirror, makeup streaked down her cheeks, eyes bloodshot, a small tear in the lace collar of her dress. 

 

“Oh Emma,” Regina says and that does it. She starts crying again, falling into Regina’s arms, resting her head against her shoulder. 

 

“I’m fine,” she mumbles. “Overwhelmed.”

 

“You’re--” Regina stops. “Emma, are you happy?”

 

No one has actually asked her before. And before she has time to think or reflect, she kisses Regina. It’s messy and she tastes the salt of her tears on their lips and she bunches a hand in Regina’s short hair, the new style she never commented on because it reminds her so much of her sexual fantasies on first arriving in Storybrooke, when she had the hots for the evil mayor. 

 

A simpler time. 

 

She kisses Regina and Regina kisses back, soft where Emma is fierce, gentle where she’s rough. 

 

And then Regina steps away, grabs a hand towel and holds it under the tap. Carefully, gently, she wipes away all traces of the panic attack, uses magic to fix her collar. “Perfect,” she says, and lifts Emma’s chin. “You look--perfect.”

 

**vi. a total milf all right**

 

It’s the night before Henry’s sixteenth birthday and Emma is leaning against the kitchen bench at Mifflin Street, watching Regina teach Henry how to roll pasta dough for ravioli. She has a glass of wine in one hand--a pinot noir because Regina’s got her into it mostly through mockery of her supposedly plebian tastes--and she feels more relaxed than she ever thought would be possible.

 

She’d never expected to be married and then, once she was, she never expected divorce only a year later. Maybe if she’d tried harder, been more conciliatory, more compliant, less selfish, they’d still be together. 

 

Archie tells her that what she’s feeling is typical of abuse survivors. He tells her that Hook manipulated her, isolated her, gaslit her. 

 

She thinks she’s starting to believe it now. What she has now in Regina’s house, helping to raise their son, is helping her understand that.

 

“Ma, you could help with the filling,” Henry says, looking over at her, his hands coated in a thin layer of flour and dough. 

 

“I don’t know,” Regina says, but she’s grinning, nose wrinkled. “Can we trust her?”

 

“I don’t know where people get the impression I can’t cook,” Emma says loftily. “I survived twenty-eight years without assistance.” 

 

“I helped you move out of that house,” Regina says. “Frozen meals for one are not cooking.” But she hands Emma a teaspoon and the bowl of ricotta and spinach. “Follow Henry's lead.”

 

Henry crafts ravioli with the precision of a master chef and Emma's are embarrassingly lumpy in comparison. “Like this,” Regina says, and her hand brushes Emma's, and Emma instinctively flinches. “Sorry,” she adds, the wall going up.

 

“No,” Emma says but Regina has already moved away, pouring herself another glass of wine.

 

It's not until later, Henry having gone out to the movies with his friends, that she can explain. They're sitting on the couch, drinking cider and Emma feels warm and fuzzy--And not just because of the blanket Regina draped around her shoulders. “I'm sorry,” she says.

 

“No,” Regina says. “You can't help your reactions. Not after--” She lets his name remain unspoken. It was Regina who took her in when it all finally went to shit, or rather it was Regina who tricked her into visiting Archie after a particularly bad incident and waited outside for her and then, without speaking, took her to the house to pack a suitcase. 

 

“It's not that,” Emma says. “It's just…” Regina is looking at her in total confusion and Emma powers forward, going head first into embarrassment city. “I can't have these feelings for you. You’re Henry's mom. It's totally embarrassing and inappropriate and--”

 

She is cut off by Regina’s lips pressing against hers, and it is warmth and fire and Emma grins into the kiss. “Not inappropriate,” Regina says when they part and she's smiling, that smile she reserves for Henry and sometimes Emma, the smile Emma is starting to recognise as her ‘I love you’ smile. “Not inappropriate at all.”

 

Emma grins. “God. You're such a MILF.”

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Mother I'd like to fall in love with,” Emma says, and Regina rolls her eyes so hard but pulls her forward, kissing her again. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not back. I just--I don't know. I got sad that this was the first SQW I wouldn't write for since I joined fandom.


End file.
